Tag Archive: mean girls

  1. And In That Moment I Swear We Were All Gretchen Wieners

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    When my editor first asked me to write a View, his only instruction was that I “be funny.” Usually, I welcome this challenge. On Twitter, people have commented that I’ll “live tweet anything” because I believe my commentary on the things people said in my “Athenian Imperial Democracy” class is hilarious. I also write about something ugly someone wore or take quotes out of context to make people look rough. So when I started thinking about possible content for this article, my mind first immediately jumped to some mean ideas — for example, writing about the one time a drunk, naked stranger stupidly wandered into my apartment and proceeded to take a shower, or all the vicious things I once said to people at an open bar because I’ve been told that the way I tell these stories is funny.

    But what does that really add to the productive campus discourse? What do these stories say about anything other than that Yale clearly cannot handle its booze?

    What they say is that the truth is that I don’t really know how to be funny — I know how to be mean. And even though this article might be widely read (I’m looking at you, Mom and Dad, are you proud of me yet?), that possibility probably won’t stop me from jumping to say something humorously critical about the people around me, the school I go to or some larger societal trend in order to get some laughs. (Invariably, my own dad consistently asks me if I’m actually funny whenever I express interest in writing for a comedy show.) As a consequence, I have been so mean to people (even if they might be universally disliked) because I know people will laugh.

    Bear with me here, because I’m going to start an extended metaphor — this is why I am Gretchen Wieners.

    Towards the end of “Mean Girls,” Gretchen announces, “I’m sorry that people are so jealous of me, but I can’t help it that I’m so popular.” And everyone laughs because, really, how can someone be so self-deluded into believing that? Well, that’s how I am about my meanness. I rest on bitchiness instead of genuinely trying to be funny because it’s going to get me results. Similarly, Gretchen’s character relies on the fact that her dad invented Toaster Strudel (and that “her hair is full of secrets”) to justify her lack of depth and her attitude. I won’t strive for smart humor or real originality, because I tend to be lazy and because the one or two laughs I get enable me to be lazy. (Unrelated to my humor or lack thereof, but also related to how I am Gretchen: My grandfather invented both the powdered donut and Cool Whip.) Ultimately, I justify how mean I am with the fact that everyone laughs at it — I’m sorry people think I’m mean, but I can’t help it that I’m so funnny, right?

    Except for that fact that I can help it. What I’m trying to say here, in my own roundabout way, is that I’m sorry and that I can do better (and now, so can you!). Take this as my public apology for all the things I’ve said on the Internet and/or to my friends and/or to your face. What I have been doing is a form of bullying, and it needs to stop. When we’re at a party complaining about our friends or stealthily taking unattractive Snapchats of others to send to friends, we’re relying on meanness to create humor and justifying the cruelty with its laugh-generating effectiveness. As easy as it is to be Gretchen, Yale deserves better than me acting like an animal in Cady’s fantasy. It deserves you to be better, too.

  2. And In That Moment I Swear We Were All Gretchen Weiners

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    When my editor first asked me to write a View, his only instruction was that I “be funny.” Usually, I welcome this challenge. On Twitter, people have commented that I’ll “live tweet anything” because I believe my commentary on the things people said in my “Athenian Imperial Democracy” class is hilarious. I also write about something ugly someone wore or take quotes out of context to make people look rough. So when I started thinking about possible content for this article, my mind first immediately jumped to some mean ideas — for example, writing about the one time a drunk, naked stranger stupidly wandered into my apartment and proceeded to take a shower, or all the vicious things I once said to people at an open bar because I’ve been told that the way I tell these stories is funny.
    But what does that really add to the productive campus discourse? What do these stories say about anything other than that Yale clearly cannot handle its booze?
    What they say is that the truth is that I don’t really know how to be funny — I know how to be mean. And even though this article might be widely read (I’m looking at you, Mom and Dad, are you proud of me yet?), that possibility probably won’t stop me from jumping to say something humorously critical about the people around me, the school I go to or some larger societal trend in order to get some laughs. (Invariably, my own dad consistently asks me if I’m actually funny whenever I express interest in writing for a comedy show.) As a consequence, I have been so mean to people (even if they might be universally disliked) because I know people will laugh.
    Bear with me here, because I’m going to start an extended metaphor — this is why I am Gretchen Wieners.
    Towards the end of “Mean Girls,” Gretchen announces, “I’m sorry that people are so jealous of me, but I can’t help it that I’m so popular.” And everyone laughs because, really, how can someone be so self-deluded into believing that? Well, that’s how I am about my meanness. I rest on bitchiness instead of genuinely trying to be funny because it’s going to get me results. Similarly, Gretchen’s character relies on the fact that her dad invented Toaster Strudel (and that “her hair is full of secrets”) to justify her lack of depth and her attitude. I won’t strive for smart humor or real originality, because I tend to be lazy and because the one or two laughs I get enable me to be lazy. (Unrelated to my humor or lack thereof, but also related to how I am Gretchen: My grandfather invented both the powdered donut and Cool Whip.) Ultimately, I justify how mean I am with the fact that everyone laughs at it — I’m sorry people think I’m mean, but I can’t help it that I’m so funnny, right?
    Except for that fact that I can help it. What I’m trying to say here, in my own roundabout way, is that I’m sorry and that I can do better (and now, so can you!). Take this as my public apology for all the things I’ve said on the Internet and/or to my friends and/or to your face. What I have been doing is a form of bullying, and it needs to stop. When we’re at a party complaining about our friends or stealthily taking unattractive Snapchats of others to send to friends, we’re relying on meanness to create humor and justifying the cruelty with its laugh-generating effectiveness. As easy as it is to be Gretchen, Yale deserves better than me acting like an animal in Cady’s fantasy. It deserves you to be better, too.

  3. “Will Adams is simply DA BEST!!!”

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    When I friended Yale Compliments on Facebook a few weeks ago, I did so under the impression that I would be tagged in a post soon after. The red speech bubble containing the number “1” would appear at the top of the page, and in one click, I could read the kind words a friend (but hopefully my crush) had sent in.

    “Will Adams is smart, funny and caring. He’s so multitalented too, like with his music skillz and his red hair skillz and his charming demeanor skillz. But he’s so humble about it and that’s what’s great about him! Any girl would be Krazy with a kapital K not to date this studmuffin.”

    As of writing, this has not happened yet. :’(

    Yale Compliments embodies the excesses of social networking, indulging our desire to have our personae manifested on the Interwebs. I discovered Yale Compliments during Thanksgiving break, when I had nothing better to do than to trawl my news feed. It inspired the most cynical of reactions. There was its debt to the cloying, hyper-positive aesthetic of “Glee” & Co. There was its user-generated messiness: half of the compliments barely qualify as such, unless you consider having “the finest ass of them all” a truly worthwhile pat on the back. There was its meaningless function: if everyone is the BEST person at Yale, then no one is. There was its inherent narcissism: you have to be a friend of Yale Compliments in order to be tagged but not to read or submit compliments, so a friend request suggests little more than a desire to be publicly lauded. Yale Compliments’ mission involves “[spreading] joy to the Yale Community.” Since friending her, I have received nary a trace of joy. Really, whenever the daily deluge of praises of people I don’t even know pours into my news feed, I groan.

    Perhaps I’m the problem. My unwillingness to view Yale Compliments as anything beyond a conduit for self-serving validation could mean that I’m just an asshole. Recoiling when people who I think suck receive praise and 53 “likes” suggests the same. But my annoyance is only ancillary to the real problem with Yale Compliments: the implication that without it, Yale would be joyless, students would feel unloved, and Cross Campus would look like that part in “Mean Girls” when the Burn Book becomes public. Our comfort with oversharing on the Internet has reached a fever pitch. To show appreciation for someone now requires an anonymous public post that over 1,900 people can see. To show appreciation for someone showing appreciation now requires a click of a thumbs-up icon. Yale Compliments champions this kind of passive activism, a system that allows its participants get by with the bare minimum.

    Is this platform even necessary, though? I would love to receive a daily email containing all the nice things my friends bothered to write to me, which I would read over breakfast. I won’t derive any fuzzy feelings from strangers reading about how nice/attractive/extremely attractive I am. I’d rather speak for myself and prove to you that I am the person that my hypothetical submission said I was (or maybe not — remember, I’m an asshole). In short: Let’s throw Yale Compliments into a well. My day-to-day interactions with Yale students cast them in a far better light than black-on-white text will ever do.